


Two Kisses, Years Apart

by WolfOfSherwood



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Last Kiss, M/M, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 07:08:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfOfSherwood/pseuds/WolfOfSherwood
Summary: A first and last kiss.





	Two Kisses, Years Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juniperwick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperwick/gifts).

> I'm back, apparently. Something slightly softer at first, before my usual pain. The first half was written several years ago, so I apologise for any errors that I didn't catch in editing.
> 
> Mostly inspired by juniperwick's kind comments!

The first time they kissed, they were drunk.

It was Robin's fifteenth birthday and the celebration was grand. Both boys had been allowed to drink as much as they wished, and had taken full advantage of the opportunity, even as their mouths dried and their heads spun. As the evening drew on, they had slipped away from the noise and crowd, swapping the overflowing manor for the silent hillside overlooking Locksley. Together they sat in a comfortable quiet that was only broken by, unsurprisingly, Robin.

"Have you ever thought about kissing?" He slurred, turning half drooped eyes to his manservant. The slightly less inebriated of the two shook his head.

"Not really." He responded, before amending. "Occasionally. No time for it."

"Well," Began Robin, in a tone that usually meant trouble. "Do you want to practice? Right now, I mean, do you want to practice right now?"

Much blinked, before thinking of something very important.

"Aren't you..." He hiccuped, throat burning a little. "Aren't you supposed to do that with a girl?"

"Just pretend I'm, I dunno, another servant," the young archer suggested, a slow smirk working onto his face.

"Master, I'm not so sure-"  
  
But it was too late; Robin had pressed their lips together and had parted them before Much could protest further. It tasted of honey and sweat, and prickled the skin where they joined, making it buzz even when they separated.

"There. Wasn't so bad."

Robin grinned, laughing at the scarlet flush that coloured Much's usually pale face, knowing his was doing the same. The few freckles across the manservant's face stood out even darker above the deep red of his cheeks, and Robin's hazy mind thought of the constellations just starting to shine above them.

If anyone were to ask later, it was simply the heavy mead and too much exertion, nothing out of the ordinary for a boy his age.

Yet, Robin still went to his bed pressing his fingers to where Much's lips had been on his.

...

The last time they kissed, they were horribly, regrettably sober.

Dawn was cresting on the horizon, illuminating the world in brilliant crimsons and golds, spilling through the trees and dispelling the shadows that rested there. Leaves fluttered in the faint, cool breeze of the early morning, whispering their stories to eager ears.

Far beneath them, two outlaws stood, side by side, so close their fingers brushed as they stared out between the trees.

"This is going to kill us," one of them murmured, blue eyes shining, resolutely not turning to look at his master. Former master.

"I know."

That is all the reply he gets. The _"we have no choice"_ is left in the silence. Long fingers, calloused from years of pulling a bow string and swinging a sword, reach out and tangle with his own, grasping so tight Much fears his hand will break.

"I love you."

The words are a breath, barely a sound, but Robin hears them. Air rushes from his lungs like closing bellows.

"I know."

There is emotion there now, the wet shake of his voice breaking the last word. Neither turn to face the other.

"You're a twat," Much admits, finally, _finally_ comfortable to insult the man he has loved, has worshipped, all his life. It's enough to startle a wet laugh from Robin.

"I know that, too," he answers, blinking hard and grinning, tight and manic and so desperately _Robin_ that Much has to look, can't stop himself.

There are tears in the archer's eyes, a fear lit in the back of them like an unflickering candle. Still, he grins, shoulders trembling when he looks to Much. Tears are already slipping down the manservant's cheeks, but he seems oblivious to them.

Death has always been a certainty in the forest. All knew that one day they would bury a friend, or that their friends would bury them. Starvation, cold, infection, battle, capture. A spinning wheel of risk, all of them waiting with bated breath for it to stop and claim one of them.

Perhaps it will claim all of them today.

Perhaps it will only claim one.

Still, they will persist, their righteous fury a brittle shield, supported only by their sheer determination.

The others still sleep in the camp, saving strength for the day ahead, the fight that will come.

Those awake, the two unmoving outlaws beneath golden skies, they know battle better than those asleep. They know the shadow of death at their back, the cold fingers raking down their spines. They know the calm before the storm as intimately as the storm itself.

Robin tugs at the hand interlocked with his own, pulling them both closer to one another, so close their noses brush. With gentle reverence he places his hand on Much's cheek, trying as hard as possible to memorise each detail of his face. Much doesn't need to do the same; he already has, too many times to count.

The kiss, when it comes, is sweet and chaste, and tastes far too much like a goodbye.


End file.
